Flickering torchlights and wine forced between her lips .. . With a
feeling of shock she found her thighs nudged apart .. . There was a
stabbing shaft of agony. Her last thought, as she slipped into a state
halfway between sleep and unconsciousness was, "And I don't even know
his name."

Millions of readers do, and they utter it with a masochistic tremolo
last in fashion when lovestruck ladies knelt before candlelit glossies
of Rudolph Valentino carrying a horsewhip. The cute brute of the...